Blue Eyes
by D McVetty
Summary: Butters has lived without his mother in the house for two years. All of South Park thinks she's staying with her sister, but they couldn't be further from the truth. Linda Stotch is about to come back and shatter his new world. / Bunny *Summary Update*
1. Wake Up

**info ;; **My very first KennyxButters story [aka Bunny]. Just a short drabble. I'm actually unsure of what classifies something as 'drabble,' but this only took a hour of my time to write. If you like this story, however, I probably wouldn't have a problem writing more for it. The plot has been floating around my head for a while now and I think its a breath of new life for the "Bunny" stories out there. Please point out mistakes or points of awesomeness. I would greatly appreciate any reviews at all. They're an author's encouragement.

**warning/disclaim ;; **Hinted boy love. Certain boy love in [possible] later chapters. Very little angst, since its... you know... Butters. Some drama from Kenny. An asshole move by Cartman. No, I don't own South Park. I wouldn't know what to do with it if I did. It certainly wouldn't be as awesome.**  
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* * *

Sunlight filters through the pale white blinds, casting a warm morning glow over the sleeping bundle beneath a Hello Kitty comforter. His hand snakes out, drapes across the bed lazily. The blanket slips down from his boyish face, freeing his wispy blonde hair. Tilting to the side, mouth open, the teen slumbers peacefully after a night of hard studying. His papers lay neatly across his desk, each pile a different class. He fell asleep sometime around three in the morning, to the relaxing sounds of _Children's Nursery Rhymes_, a compilation CD his father had given him when he was six. His classmates will call him a pussy, but no one at school needs to know. He still sleeps with Hello Kitty sheets, he still brushes his teeth with silly character tubes of toothpaste, he still eats sugary cereal for breakfast.

All his friends have grown up, and he still wakes up to the _Candy Mountain _song dressed in his Terrence and Phillip pajamas every morning.

A slender hand reaches up to scratch at his face as he turns away from the light, smacking his lips in response to whatever dream he's having. A rock taps against his window, and he jumps but doesn't wake. Another rock, louder and larger, cracks into the pane of glass. Thrashing under the covers, the falls onto the floor with a heavy thud, uttering a shout of surprise. He extracts himself from the mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he moves closer to the window. He doesn't look at the clock, but the light of day tells him it's past the time he needed to wake up, which also means his father is downstairs and he's late for school.

Spotting the blonde bombshell standing on the snowy lawn, snug in her winter best, he scratches the back of his neck and waves down at her. She threw her hands up, trudging across the snow to the mostly clear sidewalk. In the hours since he's been asleep, a light layering of snow has graced the ground. He takes note of this as he gathers his papers, shoving everything into his black messenger bag. He'd gotten rid of the Hello Kitty bag after the hundredth time of being called a _fag_. He hates that word, and hates being called it more.

He tosses his pajamas aside, dressing in black pants and a light blue shirt with _Smile! _printed on it. Sneaking a look at the alarm, he nearly cries out in surprise. Twenty minutes past the start of first period. If ever he were in trouble, it is now. All the times he's been grounded doesn't begin to compare to this exact moment. He knows, right now, his father is sitting at the table in the kitchen, waiting for him to come down the stairs.

Leopold "Butters" Stotch is notoriously on-time for almost everything. He is scatterbrained, he is often naive, sometimes innocent to the point of bomb-shelter sheltered, but he is never late for school and he never misses a party. Today is a complete work of chance. He doesn't often spend nights studying, and he suspects that has played a part in his disastrous mistake. As he rushes through his morning routine, he continuously checks the clock, timing himself. On a good day, he gets out the door in ten minutes, including a bite to eat. He's making good time today, and is downstairs in less than three minutes.

School bag over his shoulder, he stops dead at the bottom of the stairs and watches his father. The old man is sitting at the table, hidden from view by the unfolded newspaper he is unnecessarily holding up. Butters holds his breath, his bright eyes hopeful for a quick getaway.

"Late to school, are we?" Steven Stotch asks casually, flicking the newspaper down and folding it neatly on the table.

"Aw, yeah, Dad, my alarm clock didn't go off," he explains sheepishly. He quickly follows with, "But don't worry, I can walk to school myself today."

Grunting, his father lifts the paper from the table, pulling it open slowly.

Assuming the end of the conversation has happened, the blonde moves quickly. Raiding the cupboards, he discovers they've run out of food. Not surprising, not anymore. Finding a poptart hiding behind a can of beans, he snatches it up, tossing it in his book bag before his father can see it. Since his mother left them, they have not been the same. If it is for the better, Butters has yet to tell. His father has not seemed happy for the last few weeks, and he can only imagine why. The circumstances surrounding Linda's leave are uncomfortable, and he still has not told anyone at school. Despite himself, he lies every day someone asks him about his mother.

He opens the kitchen closet, pulling out his black bomber jacket and slipping one arm into it. Some of his clothing is remarkably adult, while the rest of him plays with the idea of staying a child forever.

"She called this morning," Steven says, almost demanding the attention of his son.

"H-how is she doing?" Butters asks, his stammer coming back abruptly.

"She's doing fine. Her doctors say she's almost well enough to come home."

Wincing, only a bit, Butters puts on a fake smile of gratitude. "That's g-great. I'll see you tonight, Dad. Have a good d-day at work." Without a second glance, Butters leaves the awkward atmosphere, closing the doors behind him as he goes. His day is not looking up, and he thinks he should curl up under his covers and sleep it away.

The impatient blonde on the sidewalk assures him this would not be a possibility. She stomps her foot before he gets onto the sidewalk, a stern look on her face. "Leopold Butters Stotch!" she scolds firmly. "Why aren't you at school yet? Our project is due today."

Looking firmly at the ground, Butters scuffs the toe of his shoe against the pavement. "I'm sorry, Bebe, I was sleepin' in - my clock didn't go off and, I mean..."

Bebe scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Well, we have to turn it in. Do you have it ready?" she demands in irritation.

Butters pats his bag confidently. Perhaps the only thing he's ever confident about is his school work, and that suits him just fine. He knows what two and two is, and he knows his way around biology, believe it or not. "I finished it last night. That's why I couldn't sleep, I was up all night doin' homework. Thanks for coming over to wake me up. You're a real pal, Bebe."

Bebe looks at him strangely, frowning. "You're weird," she says. "You're going to turn it in when you get to school, right?" She flips her blonde hair back, looking at her lab partner. She has a way of talking that charms anyone into being her friend. She always has, but it became a perfected art when she hit high school. The moment she's with her friends, however, it all changes. She wont think twice to rip someone apart like a piece of string cheese around her friends.

Fortunately for Butters, despite his mediocre home troubles of late, remains woefully oblivious to the darker sides of life, as long as they don't involve his father's gay bars, his mother's schizophrenic disorder, or his own _very_ suppressed memories. "Well, yeah, of course I'm turning it in. You're my lab buddy, I can't let you down," he answers happily, flashing his familiar boyish grin. He can't understand what has Bebe so upset, so he decides to ignore it. They are so close to the school, and making her happy again wont take long. When she is happy, Butters is happy. It isn't often that he has someone to sit by at lunch, but sometimes, _just sometimes_, Bebe offers him a spot at her table. Such times come by more frequently at the end of the semester, during finals. Butters never keeps track. He considers the blonde, large-chested woman a friend, and he will do anything for a friend.

The sound of a vehicle approaching makes him turn around, looking for the source. A beat up old truck rumbles around the corner, no doubt the very one Eric Cartman bought before he even got his license. Since Kenny's re-resurrection, Cartman hasn't had as much time for Butters, which suits the meek blonde just fine. He is tired of Cartman's cruel pranks and foul jokes. A break is just what he needs.

Sitting in the passenger seat is Kenny McCormick, his orange hood tight around his face to protect against the harsh winter. Butters raises a hand in a cheerful wave, but disappointment crosses his face as Kenny stares straight ahead. Cartman has spotted them, and he slows down enough to honk the horn and flip the walkers off. Laughing behind the wheel, he slams on the gas, his tires squeel, and he speeds towards the school. Black smoke billows from the exhaust, and the truck backfires, shaking violently from the carbureted sneeze.

Butters smiles. "They're running late," he observes thoughtfully.

Bebe hurries her steps, sighing. "You're something else, Butters."

* * *

Cartman's truck is sitting half off the curb, the rest of it over beautiful green landscaping Horticulture 101 has planted. Deep ruts in the dirt suggest this is not the first time he has parked here, yet no one has yet reprimanded him. Butters takes note of the poor park job, figuring he will tell his friend about it so Cartman has the chance to fix his mistake. Filing away his mental note, he pushes his way into the high school with Bebe, holding the door open. Once inside school grounds, he doesn't exist to the high-class blonde. She hones in on Wendy Testaburger and the group of people she calls friends, leaving Butters behind to close the door.

Shrugging it off as usual, Butters waves to the girl's back. "I'll turn in the paper! See you later, Bebe!"

He's made it to school just after first period, meaning his next class is a free class. As long as he makes no disturbances, he can do anything he wants to. A content smile on his face, he strolls down to the science room, knocking before pushing the door open. He may not possess common sense, but he does know a thing or two about science. After his fall-out with religion, it is easy enough to breathe in Science as a second nature. It makes sense to him, and he's good at it. Most of his class fight to be his partner in labs, and he never knows how to choose one. Usually, the teacher does it for him.

He stops at her desk and waits patiently for her to look up. Interrupting is rude, and he never wants to seem rude. Except on special occasions, and usually only to Cartman. When the teacher finally looks up from grading papers, she arches a slender red eyebrow.

"Yes, Leopold?" she asks.

"I'm here to turn in mine and Bebe's term paper," he explains, fishing the correct documents out of his bag and putting them on the desk. "Sorry I wasn't here for first period, there were some family things." He fidgets with his hands, a habit when he knows he isn't telling the straight truth. Anyone can read him like an open book, because he _is_ one.

Pursing her lips tightly, the teacher takes the paper, looking it over with little sounds as punctuation to her thoughts. Flipping to the last page, she looks up. "Did Miss Stevens help you with this paper?" she asks.

Butters finches at the question. He is loathe to lie, but Bebe is _his_ lab partner, and darn it if he's going to be part of another accountabilibuddy accident. "Of course, Mrs. Withers. She stopped by last night and helped me revise it," he answers shakily.

Doubtful, Mrs. Withers places the papers in her bin. "You're a very kind boy, Leopold. I'll be grading presentations tomorrow. You need to be here or I'll be forced to give you a failing grade for the semester."

He grins widely, giving the teacher a thumbs up. "I'll be here Mrs. Withers. Thanks a lot. See you in the morning!" As he leaves her room, he finds himself whistling cheerfully. A few straggling students give him passing glances, though it doesn't bother him today. With the next hour free, he doesn't know what he's going to do. Sometimes, he finds Kenny in the cafeteria, sitting in the corner, quietly playing his beat up PSP. Deciding he needs company rather than more studying, the happily whistling teen strolls to the cafeteria. Just as Butters suspects, Kenny is sitting in the corner of the room, playing his PSP, his hood hanging down his back to adhere to school dress policy.

Butters sits in the seat next to the quiet blonde, leaning over slightly to see what game is playing. Nothing he recognizes, so he sits back in his chair, hands gripping the seat as he sways lightly side to side. Not nearly as bad as Tweak Tweek, yet the innocent blonde still feels the need to keep moving. Staying still is never an option when he's thinking about everything and anything all at once. It takes Kenny a moment to acknowledge his existence. Only after putting the game system in his pocket does he look at the nervous blonde next to him.

"Hey, Butters. Sorry about Cartman," he says offhandedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Butters says curiously, tilting his head to the side.

"This morning... he... when he drove by..." Kenny shrugs, blowing air out his nose. It is painfully obvious Butters still hasn't grown up. "Well, whatever. What's up?"

Butters smiles. "It's free period so I thought I'd come see what you were doing."

"Anything interesting?"

Pausing, the boy thinks about it. "No, not really," he answers.

"Not usually, either," Kenny replies, leaning his seat back on two legs and setting his feet on the table. "How's your mum?"

"Oh, y-you know..." Butters pauses, looking at the white tiled floor. Lying to his friends is the hardest part, but he has to. "She's great."

"Are you just saying that to say it, Butters?"

He looks up defensively, upset someone would call him on a lie. "No," he says defiantly.

Kenny shrugs. "Whatever, dude. You don't have to lie to me. Not like I'd tell someone."

"What about Kyle? Or Stan?" Butters asks.

Kenny looks at him, his crystal blue eyes searching for the answers while trying to hide his own. Finally, he sighs and looks at the clock. "You know those two. Kyle's all about school and Stan's tearing himself apart between being the star quarterback and keeping up with Kyle in grades. No time for someone like me, not anymore."

Butters' face shows concern for his friend as he listens, shaking his head sadly. He may not be world-wise, but he knows when people are down and out. Kenny is a perfect example of someone on their way out the door. He's been dying since the day he was born, and more so than the rest of them. Butters doesn't remember a school year that the death-prone South Park resident hasn't died. "It sound like you need a hug," he observes after a thoughtful pause.

"Are you running a hug business now, too?" Kenny jokes, a smile crossing his lips.

"No," Butters protests. "I was just saying..."

"I know, I know." Kenny drops his feet to the floor, looking back at the clock. "I'm goin' out for a smoke. You can stay in here if you want, or you can come out with me," he offers.

"I don't smoke," Butters says cautiously.

"But you do listen," Kenny points out. "I could use someone to listen for a minute."

If Butters understood what Kenny was asking, he would have agreed with him. He's been dealing with all the pressures at home by himself if not only because he doesn't know another way, then because he doesn't have anyone to talk to about it. "Well, sure, Kenny. I'd love to listen. What do you want to talk about?" he asks innocently, his curiosity piquing as he gets up from the table.

"Some stuff," Kenny replies, leading the way to the gymnasium doors. He and Craig had learned, in eighth grade, that holding the bar to the emergency door down and sneaking out back didn't cause the alarm to go off. He shows Butters this trick, but knows the air-headed blonde won't remember it. Once safely outside, they sit against the west wall of the school, looking to the darker sky. The parts morning hasn't fallen upon quite yet. Taking out a cigarette, Kenny lights it with a fake zippo lighter.

"Are you ready to talk? I'm ready to listen," Butters says eagerly, watching Kenny's every move.

Kenny chuckles, smoke rolling from his lips as he gives Butters a sideways glance. "Give me a minute, dude. It's a lot to talk about. I've never done this before."

"Smoked?"

"Told someone my problems," Kenny corrects.

"Oh, _thats_ what I'm listening to?"

"You don't have to."

"Its okay. If I help, that's good, right?" Butters asks.

Kenny can't help the short laugh that escapes him. "Yeah, Butters, that's good."


	2. Smoke Break

**note ;; **Thank you so much for the reviews! They make me feel warm and fuzzly on the inside. I'm beginning to really, _really_ love this story, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Sorry for ending the first chapter in such a strange place, it just felt right. And who doesn't love a little suspense? I would love it if I could get feedback on this chapter, since it took me a while longer to write and it has a lot more impact in it than the first. Please enjoy.

**edit note ;; **I forgot to put the breaks in, since doesn't support Word Perfect created breaks. Sorry for any confusion it caused. I feel so silly now.

**warning ;; **Tons of fluff, dark foreshadowing, and swearing. Y'know, the usual.

**disclaim ;; **I don't own South Park.

**recent soundtrack ;; **_Blue Eyes_ by Mika, _Do You Remember_ by The Summer Obsession,_ I and Love and You_ by The Avett Brothers, _Awake My Soul_ by Mumford and Sons

* * *

Kenny rolls the cigarette between his fingers, watching the ash fall to the ground. Releasing smoke through his nose, he sighs heavily. Butters fidgets next to him, often looking at the taller blonde as if wondering when he's going to open up. When someone says they want to talk, they usually know what they're going to say. In Kenny's case, the teen seems more lost in thought than anything. Butters begins to think its something he's done, and he scuffs his toes against the gravel, staring down at his light blue sneakers as if they are the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

"How's your dad?" Kenny asks, inhaling the bitter scent of smoke.

Butters looks at him strangely, his dark blue eyes questioning. "My... dad? Well, gee, Kenny... I thought _you_ wanted to talk."

"I do, I do," Kenny reassures, a smile crossing his face, cigarette hanging limply from his lip. "It just helps if you talk first. I don't know how to start."

"Oh, well... I don't think I know either," Butters says, his brows knitting together in deep thought. He has never told anyone about his problems at home. The most he ever lets on is how much he is grounded, and since his mother has left, he hasn't been grounded. Linda leaving the Stotch house is the best thing that has happened to him. He loves his mother, like any good boy, but he knows she isn't _good_ for him in the sense that a mother needs to be. His father, on the other hand, has always been there. His father. Jumping, he looks up at Kenny. "My dad's good," he says. "He works an awful lot at night. Sometimes he doesn't come home until really early in the morning, but he's always reading the darn newspaper when I wake up for school."

Kenny suppresses a chuckle, snorting wisps of smoke. The image strikes him as funny, though Butters doesn't sound particularly thrilled, judging his use of a near-swear word. "And your mom?" he pries again.

Butters hesitates, his body tensing. He doesn't move, doesn't look at the teen asking the questions. He doesn't know how to deflect that question twice in one day from the same person. Its doubtful if he has the mental capacity to lie twice in the span of twenty minutes.

Kenny saves him, dropping the smouldering half of the cigarette on the pavement and grinding it out with his old combat boots. Army Surplus store, three years ago. "Why do you always do Bebe's homework?" he asks.

"Well, I..." Butters pauses, unsure of how to answer. Kenny's looking at him questioningly, and he doesn't have a single logical answer. Finally, he spits it out, sounding incredibly lame once it leaves his mouth. "She's my friend."

Kenny grunts, rolling his eyes.

"I thought _you_ wanted to talk," the shorter blonde repeats, irritation finally crawling into his voice. "For a guy who wants someone to listen, you're sure quiet, Kenny."

Somehow, being reprimanded by Butters gives Kenny a spark of courage. He stares straight at the ground, wishing desperately the cigarette were still clenched between his teeth. "Kevin left," he says quietly.

Butters' anger, previously fueled by Kenny's reluctance to speak, suddenly dwindles into embers of confusion. He frowns, his blue eyes swimming in concern as he searches his companion for answers. Butters hasn't grown up, true, but he isn't stupid. He knows when someone is upset, just not why. Finding no answers in Kenny's sad expression, the curious blonde moves himself closer to his companion. "Why the heck would he do that?" he asks, his confusion coming across as an upset question.

Clenching his fist, Kenny shakes his head. "I don't fucking _know_," he growls angrily. "One day, he just said, '_Hey, Ken, I'm leaving. Sorry, bro. Can't stand it anymore, so fuck you, you fucking fuck.'_ No explanation. Nothing. That was it."

Butters squirms uncomfortably at the words. It troubles his heart to hear the anger in Kenny's voice. An anger the innocent blonde has not heard from Kenny on any occasion before. He doesn't know what to say, or if he needs to say anything. Feeling awkward, he reaches his arm around Kenny's sloping shoulders. Kenny doesn't move, but takes a deep, shuddering breath, settling deeper into his slump.

"I don't get it Butters," he says shakily. Taking a deep breath, he holds back a choked sob. "I don't get it. What did I do wrong?"

Hot tears drip down his cheeks as he holds back his shaking. It surprises him, how he so easily loses control in front of another person. It has never been this way. He always stays in control, stays calm and collected. He's the calm center of South Park, the one that has seen death, knows its name, and is not afraid. Nothing in life can scare him. Nothing can shake him or move him to tears. Except Kevin. Kevin packing his only possessions. Kevin walking out the door. Kevin leaving. The thoughts send another shaking spasm down his back, and Butters' other arm wraps around his chest.

Holding Kenny in his arms, Butters stays still. He still does not know what to say, and he fears that anything he _does_ say will upset Kenny further. It is frightening, to see someone he looks up to crying. Swallowing hard, he pats the shaking blonde's back gently. A sob escapes Kenny's lips, and he leans into the embrace, twisting Butters' shirt in his pale, bony fingers.

He feels ridiculous, like a girl crying over another birthday without a pony, but he lets it out. The sobs rip at his throat, the physical pain releasing his anger and confusion. His face is pressed into the soft fabric of Butters' shirt, and with every breath, he can smell the lavender laundry soap. Butters holds him tightly, calm and patient, and it is just what he needs. Breathing heavily, Kenny calms down, slowing his sobs. He takes a shuddering breath before releasing the pale blue shirt and pulling away from the comforting embrace. Across the shirt, dark blue spots mark his tears in a mockery of his own face. Beneath them, the word _Smile! _stares back at him. Wiping at his nose, he sniffles.

"I'm sorry," he says slowly, looking away.

"There's nothin' to be sorry about," Butters says, watching him. "You needed someone to listen, and I did. I like to help, Kenny."

The poor teen scoffs, wiping his tears across his sweater sleeve. "I'm a fuckin' pussy, Butters, admit it."

Butters says nothing.

"My fuckin' brother walks out, he's _twenty two years old _for gods sake, and I'm sobbing like a little girl. I'm a pussy..." He sniffles, takes a breath. "...Fuck."

The pair is silent for a minute, each staring at the ground. The silence isn't uncomfortable, and they're content to sit quietly with each other.

"My mother is coming home soon," Butters says suddenly, knowing Kenny will not understand the power of those simple words.

He chooses not to elaborate, and the two sit in silence through the rest of the period.

* * *

Over the next three weeks, talking to Kenny on the west wall of the school will become common practice for the naive teenager. Kenny's problems mask his own, almost taking his mind off the looming certainty that his mother will be coming back, that she will be asserting her authority over the house once more. This complete, inevitable truth hangs around each corner, though he never shows it. He is Kenny's stoic support, as strong as a rock in tempest winds. No matter how hard Kenny falls in his depression, Butters remains strong.

It is the first time he has ever felt needed, and he likes it.

There is one day he sneaks outside, the way Kenny has taught him, and Kenny is not there. He waits for his emotionally fragile friend the entire period, but he doesn't show. Butters returns to classes with a heavy feeling in his chest, and doesn't see Kenny for the rest of the day.

It is only as he is leaving school that he overhears Stan and Kyle.

"That was pretty sick, dude."

"Could you blame him?"

"He just comes back. I don't get it."

"This isn't the first time he's done it, Stan. You should be used to it by now."

"I know... its just so... sad. What's so bad that he's been doing this now?"

Butters moves closer to the pair, though they see him and abruptly stop talking. They exchange glances that Butters can't read and make room for the childish teen to walk with them.

"What's up, Butters?" Stan asks.

"I was just wondering... when Kenny is coming back," he says quietly, unusually upset.

Kyle and Stan look at each other, concern etched into Kyle's pale face. Deciding between themselves, Kyle puts his hand on Butters' back. "We're not sure when he comes back," Kyle starts. Stan shoots him a frantic look, and Kyle clenches his fist. "I mean, I'm sure he'll be back really soon. Before the week is out."

Butters looks up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "You're sure?" he asks.

Stan smiles, giving him a thumbs up. "Of course, dude. He always comes back."

Butters is grinning back and blinking his tears away. "Thanks, Stan. I'll see you guys in school tomorrow," he says, renewed hope on his face as he begins walking home alone.

He is two blocks away from the duo before he realizes the next day is Saturday, and they won't be at school. This doesn't bother him as much as it usually would, and he walks into his house with a heavy sigh. His father is sitting on the couch, staring at the television with blank eyes. Avoiding the man's stare, Butters walks around the back of the couch and disappears into the kitchen. The pantry is still alphabetical, that much hasn't changed, though the kitchen is more of a mess than would have been usual two years ago. He sorts through piles of mail, picking out a magazine in his name and an envelope addressed to him. He grabs a packet of hot cocoa from the pantry and goes upstairs to his bedroom.

Locking the door behind him, he sets his school work beside his desk and collapses onto his bed with his mail. He pages through the magazine swiftly, ignoring it for the most part. The letter with no return address is intriguing him more, and he tosses the magazine aside to peel open the inconspicuous white letter. He pulls out a single piece of paper, folded several times into itself, yellowed with age. As he pulls it apart, the thick scent of smoke falls out with it. The handwriting is scrawled hastily, but he doesn't have a problem reading it. He's had to impersonate it a few times.

_You're not supposed to get this, but I guess you're reading it now so... whatever. It wasn't because of you. I needed a fresh start. I sound like a fucking pussy, man. That has to stop. Thanks for giving me a shoulder to lean on. I'll try to repay the favor. See you soon, Buttercup. Xoxo_

_

* * *

_

Monday morning comes as no surprise. He wakes up on time and finishes his morning routine ten minutes before he has to leave. He considers going to school early, but decides against it. His father isn't at the table this morning, and he can finally eat a breakfast without the scrutinizing gaze or uncomfortable silence. As he is rummaging through the nearly empty fridge, he hears the front door close. His head pops up over the fridge as he watches the hallway.

"Dad?" he calls.

There is no answer, and he closes the fridge cautiously. He hears someone taking their shoes off in the hall, and he creeps towards the doorway, cautious and quiet as a mouse. In the early winter light, shadows dance across the hallway, cast up onto the walls and into mirrors. Gaining the bravery to step into the hallway, he sees nothing by the stairs but shadows. His eyes sweep across to the front door, spotting his mother standing in the hallway, staring at him blankly. Holding something small in her hand, the woman raises it towards him slowly. She is wearing the same clothes as when she left, and she has a dirty look around her that causes Butters' breath to catch in his throat. He lets out a startled gasp, choking off at the end.

Before he knows exactly what he is doing, he throws himself back into the kitchen, trying to get to his room. The linoleum floor is slippery beneath his feet, his socks sliding across wildly. He falls halfway across the kitchen, scrambling to get to his balance. Panic surges through the short blonde's body as hands grip beneath his armpits, pulling him to his feet and wrapping around from behind, pulling him into a warm body taller than himself.

"Butters!"

"No!"

"Butters, stop! Its me! Its Kenny!"

Butters goes completely still, his chest rising and falling quickly, heartbeat pulsing rapidly in his neck. Kenny's breath is hot on his ear, his arms tight around his chest. He doesn't know what to do, how to react to his sudden and violent flight. Butters shakes lightly, with each breath, ridiculously resembling a trembling Chihuahua on Christmas morning.

"It's okay," Kenny says, nestling his face in the crook of Butters' neck, hot breath running down the pale yellow shirt the smaller teen chose to wear that morning. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Butters is quiet, regaining his precious oxygen as Kenny continues to breath warm air down the back of his shirt.

"I need a place to sleep..." Kenny whispers.

"You need to g-go to school," Butters corrects him, a slight stutter to his words. "I don't wanna get in t-trouble, Kenny. My p-parents will _ground_ me. Oh, gee, I don't _wanna _be grounded."

Kenny pauses, his breath catching. He lifts his head from Butters' neck slightly, enough to see the smaller blonde's parted lips beneath his own shaggy blonde bangs. "You haven't been grounded for two years," he says slowly.

"M-my parents will ground me, Kenny. You have to stop getting me in so much trouble," Butters protests.

Kenny grabs him by the shoulders, turning him around to stare him in the eye. "Butters." The innocent blonde doesn't respond. "Butters," Kenny repeats, sterner this time. Still no response. "Butters!"

Blinking rapidly, the Stotch descendant looks up to Kenny. "What?" he asks meekly.

Kenny's face shows concern as he searches Butters for answers. "Are you okay? Do you want me to walk you to school?"

Butters nods silently.

Grabbing the plain black school bag from the table, Kenny looks through the cupboards quickly for anything edible. He tosses a can of soup in the bag and starts to walk back to Butters before he turns around to rummage through the drawers in search of a can opener. He tosses it into the bag and grabs Butters' wrist, tugging him gently out the door. They set their feet in the direction of school, Butters taking short shuffling steps and Kenny trying not to push him faster.

"What class do you have first?" Kenny asks rhetorically. He knows the answer, he always has.

"S-science with Mrs. Killinger," Butters answers hesitantly.

"What about second period?"

Butters pauses, and Kenny feels his heart skip a beat. The innocent blonde looks as if he's concentrating hard, and he finally looks at Kenny and smiles. "Smoke break outside the gym," he says. "Except I don't smoke, you do."

Kenny grins uneasily, still put off by Butters' strange actions. "Yeah," he agrees. "Don't start, either. Sick habit, dude."

Butters giggles at Kenny's over-protective order, his steps growing longer and more sure. "Why did you start?"

"Smoking?"

"Well, yeah."

Kenny pauses, taking a deep breath. Shrugging, he says, "I can't die, so why not enjoy it?"

Butters makes an uneasy noise at the back of his throat as he looks down.

"You got the note," Kenny says flatly. Butters' nod tells him all he needs to know. He forces a grin, bumping the shorter teen's side with his hip. "I'm better now, see? Perfect."

"Then why do you need somewhere to sleep, Ken?" Butters asks, suspicious.

Kenny rolls his eyes. "It's nothing bad," he says. Butters glares at him, so he holds out his hand. "Pinky promise," he says solemnly.

Butters accepts the promise, hooking their little fingers together before nodding. "Good. But you have to do your homework. I can't keep doin' it for you."

Kenny fishes in his pockets, a look of concentration on his face, producing a handful of lint. "I'll give you all my lint if you do my math homework," he offers, holding his lint offering out.

Shaking his head, the shorter blonde pushes the bribe away. "I can help you study, but I'm not going to just do it anymore."

"That's fair then," Kenny says, shrugging.

They walk in silence for the last few blocks, coming to a stop on the sidewalk across from the school. Sighing in unison, they trudge across the white-striped crosswalk. Neither speak of what happened in the kitchen, and neither will speak of it for another three weeks. It is not important now, but then, it will be the centerpiece of their world. What is important is getting to class, and Kenny decides to forget skipping now that he has come so far. The blonde pair walk into the school together, merging into the throngs of students before first bell.

"See you outside?" Kenny asks casually.

"I'll be there," Butters replies.

"Good."

Butters watches as Kenny disappears into the crowd. The short blonde sighs as he opens his locker, stuffing his bag inside and taking out his science papers. Mrs. Killinger's report is over now, and he can breathe easy. Instead of a report, he can look forward to walking the trails outside and checking home-made live traps for mice and other small forest creatures. It gives him time to think, and today, he needs all the time he can get to block out the thoughts provoked by Kenny's surprise visit. He hasn't had any time to think over his missing father, and its something he can't let go.

As he walks to class, the first bell rings, beginning the day.


End file.
